


Nothing Left to Lose

by Llwyden ferch Gyfrinach (Llwyden)



Series: Freedom [2]
Category: Dark City (1998), Flatliners (1990)
Genre: Creepy, Crossover, Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llwyden/pseuds/Llwyden%20ferch%20Gyfrinach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nelson doesn't have much left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Left to Lose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/gifts).



> Please note! This really won't make much sense at all without reading the first in the series. Try that first if you haven't already!
> 
> And again, many many thanks to my most amazing betas!

Nelson strode as fast as he could, as if getting far away from Dave's place would put the morning behind him too. A miserable drizzle had started, and he hunched into his coat, remembering the warmth he'd felt waking up surrounded by fleece blanket and the scent of Dave.

He lit a cigarette, fumbling as it touched his lips and he remembered their kiss.

 _Damn it._ He turned his face into the rain and cursed himself as much as Dave. _You stupid fuck. You_ knew _. You knew he wasn't into guys, you knew he'd never really want you, and you still let him do it._

He snorted in bitter laughter. Let him? He'd welcomed it. His one chance to really feel wanted, to feel loved. _Face it, Nelson. You lost that right when you were eight. What made you think you got it back just because Billy forgave you?_

He scrubbed a hand across his face. Forgiveness wasn't love, either. _And it was still more than you deserved, you miserable bastard._

He crossed the street and cut through an alley, stumbling as his foot caught on a crack in the pavement. He wiped his glasses on his sleeve, glancing up as he caught movement from the corner of one eye. Nothing there but a bit of litter blowing in the breeze, though.

He gave up trying to clean them and stuffed his glasses in a pocket, then kept going.

 

 

Nelson was guiltily glad of Dave's suspension, his absence meaning Nelson didn't have to face the reality that he'd finally admitted his feelings to himself and his friend. Instead, he went with the tried-and-true method of repression and sublimation.

His work had never failed him; even when it had been just a way to escape the horrors of adolescence, it had always been a comfort. These days, with studies and clinics as well as his own research, it was ever easier to let it consume him, as if the work were the driving force and he was just its tool.

He had no doubt Dave would make good on his promise to rat him out if he were caught experimenting again, but if he'd thought that would deter Nelson, he wasn't as bright as everyone assumed. Still, there was no sense in pushing his luck.

Instead, Nelson focused on reading and researching other ways to find what he was after. He combed the library for anything useful, anything that might tell him how to find the difference between himself and the still-dead bodies in the morgue.

He ran through the printouts of his flatlining sessions over and over — EEG, EKG, video. He watched the patients at the hospital more closely than ever, questioned them discreetly and carefully for signs they were experiencing anything relevant to his work.

He sat in the morgue, fingers steepled in front of his face, staring at the bodies. The others avoided him, and he was fine with that. He knew they probably thought he was going insane, but he couldn't be bothered to care. They'd only ever been in it as tourists; this was his country.

He eavesdropped on Rachel's NDE discussion sessions, though. One person or four didn't make the best experimental group, and even if half of the people she spoke with were full of it, maybe some of them would have experienced something that would offer some insight.

She caught his eye one day, and he cursed mentally, knowing he'd never get out of this without a talk now. Resigned, he waited, jaw set and expression pleasantly bland.

"Nelson." She nodded at him, looking a bit wary. "Can I help you with something?"

"Just listening," he admitted coolly. "You blame me for being interested?"

"Is that what it is?" She looked him over. "You could always come join us, you know."

"Somehow I don't think that's a good idea." He smirked to cover his discomfort, daring her to contradict him.

"Maybe not," she answered quietly after a moment, looking almost disappointed. "Look, Nelson, you were dead for a pretty long time. Do you ever think maybe you should talk to somebody?"

He laughed bitterly. "Oh, don't worry. I talked to Dave."

Her brow furrowed, like she wasn't quite sure how to take that. "Well, good. That's good. You know if…" She trailed off. "Never mind. Look, just don't forget we're all here, all right?"

"Thanks. I'll keep it in mind." She meant well; he knew it. And hell, of them all, she probably had the best idea of what he'd felt. The big difference being she hadn't actually killed her father. He shook his head angrily, though not really at her. "I gotta go, okay?" He flashed her a smile he hoped didn't look too false.

"Okay." She opened her mouth as if to say something else, then just nodded and watched him go.

 

 

He waited a few days after that, staying away from his usual pursuits, sure he'd be in for an "intervention" from Joe or Steckle — maybe even from Dave — on her behalf. There was nothing, though, and he eventually went back to his research, though he kept an extra eye out.

The problem was, now that he was looking, he was sure he saw things. He heard someone following him, but when he turned around, no-one was there. He caught a flash of movement in a hallway or on the street, but it was empty when he turned to look. There was a shadow on the pavement, he was sure of it, but no matter where he looked, he couldn't find the person casting it.

He turned every lock when he got home and sat in the middle of his bed clutching his hockey stick. "Damn it, Billy, if this is you, what more do you want?" he whispered into the night.

But if it was him, he wasn't answering anymore.

Nelson supposed he should be glad; at least he wasn't having to explain any more black eyes and cut lips to anyone. He wasn't getting a lot of sleep either, though. And when he finally managed to drift off, his dreams were of Dave laughing at him and his father's face twisted in anger and disgust.

 

 

As December came in, the chatter around the campus turned to talk of family, parties, going home for the holidays. Nelson buried his nose in books and his hands in corpses and ignored it as best he could.

He found himself missing Dave more as Christmas drew near — maybe Dave had always gone to spend time with his family, but at least he understood being ambivalent about all the celebrations. Since they'd met as undergrads, there had always been one place Nelson could go to escape the relentless cheerfulness of the season.

 _But you fucked that right up, didn't you?_ he sneered at himself. He huddled into his coat as the wind picked up, snow whipping against his face. _You just had to go and tell him._ Maybe if he'd swallowed his pride and kept his mouth shut, he'd still at least have a friend to go back to. _Yeah, right. And hey, maybe he'd even fuck you again if you asked really nicely._ His stomach turned at the thought of what he'd lost and what he knew he'd never have.

 _Stick with science, Nelson. It might screw you over, but at least it won't leave you or lie to you._ He hurried his steps as he turned the last corner to the parking lot, and nearly ran into a tall man in a dark coat coming the other way.

He sidestepped quickly, muttering an apology, and the other man nodded. "Doctor."

The voice wasn't familiar, but the face, pale with strong cheekbones, jogged a memory. He nodded back, unable to recall a name. "Excuse me."

"Of course." The man sounded amused as he stepped aside to let him pass.

Distance and the blowing snow kept him from seeing that corner of the building from his car, but he couldn't shake the feeling the man was still watching him.

 

 

"Nelson!"

He looked up from his notebook and found Joe hurrying up the steps toward him. He pasted on a smile and waited. "Joe."

"Hey." Joe nodded at him, a little out of breath. "So, you coming to the Christmas party at the Rat?"

Nelson sighed. "Look, Joe, you know I —"

"I know, I know." He held up his hands defensively. "You're not a comfort-and-joy kind of guy, I get it. But you need to get out more, okay? You've been spending more time with the dead than the living. Besides, if you don't come out, I'll be stuck listening to Steckle all night. Save me, please."

"Joe," he began, shaking his head.

"I'll owe you one," Joe insisted. "Camera, car, building keys, whatever you need. If I can get it, it's yours."

Nelson eyed him. "You must be pretty desperate." He didn't need anything at the moment, but a favor like that might be worth it.

"Definitely. You'll do it?" He raised his eyebrows with a hopeful smile.

Nelson nodded reluctantly. "I'm not promising how long, though. But I'll be there."

"Thank you." Joe grinned at him. "See you tonight, then."

"Yeah, okay. See you." He tucked his papers into his bag and grimaced.

 

 

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming. Should have remembered that they were all more than capable of banding together and turning on him. In his defense, he was running on more caffeine and nicotine than sleep, and he'd been trying so hard to shove the thing with Dave to the back of his mind that he'd managed to avoid even thinking of him much.

Until he walked into the bar and saw him sitting there.

His steps faltered as he watched him, sitting and smiling at the others. None of them had spotted him yet, and he had a moment to just look him over, to hope and wish. Then Dave looked up and saw him, and his expression was a mixture of dread and resignation and some other things he couldn't place. Nelson waited a moment, stalling, but none of those things resolved into affection or caring.

Nelson nodded and left. He heard them calling after him, and ducked into another building, sliding down below the level of the windows until he couldn't hear them anymore.

He grabbed his bag out of the car and hurried to the library; there were enough nooks and crannies there that he should be safe from discovery. He settled in a third-floor carrel by a window that rattled in its frame and let the cold seep in and pulled out his notebooks, flipping them open. Freud and Jung always seemed a bit nonscientific, but if he went back to the primary sources and compared them to his own experience and medical knowledge…

He was deep into a book, some revelation tickling at the edge of his mind, when the wind picked up, whistling across the casement; he jumped, startled, and his sleeve knocked his anatomy folder to the floor, scattering its contents. He growled and leaned down to collect them, shoving them back where they belonged, trying to keep his focus on the text he'd been reading. There was something there, he knew it, if —

His hands faltered on a picture he'd taken from the morgue. The brain of a man who'd asphyxiated, areas of damage circled on the photograph. The brain's former owner was out of focus in the background, but Nelson didn't need to see it in any more detail. He remembered now. Remembered that face, remembered when he'd last seen it.

In a dark night around a corner on the snowy quad.

 

 

He couldn't remember exactly how he got home, just remembered stumbling upstairs and throwing all the bolts, then curling around himself in the bed.

 _Maybe I am going crazy. Maybe I'm seeing things now. Or maybe it's Billy's revenge, setting every dead person I've ever touched after me._ He laughed, aware that he was more than a little hysterical. _That's going to make being a doctor a bitch._

He got a little dark pleasure out of the knowledge that Dave had apparently been wrong. "So much for atonement, right?" He chuckled. "Fuck." How the hell were you even supposed to try to make it up to some guy for studying his brain? "You gave it up, you stupid fucker — medical research! What did you think would happen?"

The words echoed through his apartment, but there was no answer, no ghost appearing to extract its pound of flesh.

Nelson slept fitfully, his head dropping to his knees only to jerk back up as he was dozing off, haunted by visions of the dead coming for him.

He stayed where he was the next day, distracting himself with trying to recapture what he'd nearly had the previous night. _Answers. There are answers here._

He thought about flatlining again. But if the others were talking to Dave, they'd probably all be against him. He could put himself under and give them his location and trust they'd get to him in time again, but if they didn't, or if they chose not to, he'd be fucked.

He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. Was it worth the chance? He tried weighing the options, but the truth was, he had no idea what the odds might be. And despite Dave's accusations, he didn't actually want to die.

Not having much to live for wasn't exactly the same.

 

 

He spent another two days in his apartment, but neither books nor experimental results yielded anything he hadn't already seen ten times over. No revelations, no new answers to anything. And despite his jumping at every noise, no new visits from the dead. He was beginning to think he'd imagined it.

 _Maybe my brain's playing tricks on itself. I'd seen that body before, I've got experience with being followed by the dead._ He eyed the books he'd been buried in lately. _Hell, maybe reading too many schizophrenic case studies is starting to get to me._ He wasn't sure which to hope for — that he really was going crazy, or that an autopsy subject was following him.

"And that, right there, is crazy, you son of a bitch." He couldn't help laughing.

He couldn't stay in his apartment indefinitely, though. And if Mister Dead Guy, whatever the heck his name was, wasn't following him here, the next best thing seemed to be going to him. _And if none of this is real, maybe seeing the body will snap me out of it._

This close to the holidays, the campus was nearly empty, everybody inside studying or already gone home. He kept a wary eye out for any of the others, but made it to the morgue without being stopped. He took a deep breath, then berated himself. _What, you're scared of some fucking dead bodies now?_ Unfortunately, if even an eight-year-old dead kid had beat him up, that wasn't as much of a pep talk as he'd been hoping.

 _Fuck it._ He pushed the doors open and strode inside, looking around for trouble.

There was nothing there.

He eyed the empty tables and closed drawers, then sank down to sit at the little desk with the only light that had been left on. He laughed and shook his head at himself. "You're really losing it, you know."

He shrugged off his jacket and slipped on his glasses, powering up the computer they'd started keeping records on. "All right, so let's find out who you are."

"Do you often speak to yourself, Doctor?"

Nelson spun toward the voice, breath catching in his throat. It was the dead man. Standing there, still dressed in the same coat he'd been wearing several nights ago, watching Nelson expressionlessly.

As he watched, another came up behind him. Equally dead-eyed, identically dressed. He frantically searched his memory, but couldn't even remember him. _I'm being haunted by dead people I've never even met now?_

The desk was set against the wall; there was nowhere to go, and the dead men stood between him and the exit. He looked from one to the other, but they simply stood there as if waiting, not attacking or even threatening. Calm. _Yeah, like the dead!_ he reminded himself hysterically.

"Why are you following me?" he asked, desperation making it more a plea than demand. "What do you _want_?"

The one in the lead cocked his head. "We want you, Doctor." He strode a little closer, and Nelson steeled himself, hands clenching into fists as he fought not to cringe. "We are in need of your assistance." He looked Nelson over. "We have been setting up an experiment. We have been working at it for some time."

He turned from Nelson to look over the nearest autopsy table, and Nelson drew in a shaky breath. "An experiment?"

"Yes." He wandered from the table to stare at the safety posters on the wall. "We had thought that we could do it by ourselves, but we find that we are having…difficulties, yes?" He spun to look back at Nelson, and all he could do was nod, relieved when that dead gaze left him once again.

"We have searched for some time for … someone that might prove helpful to us, that might have the types of knowledge that we are in need of." He flicked contemptuously at a textbook left on a table. "Who might be able to assist us in our search for answers."

Nelson breathed a little easier, almost smiling. "What kinds of answers?"

The smile he got in return was creepier than the lack of expression had been. "The same kinds of answers you seek, Doctor. What makes humans different from other creatures? What survives in them after death?"

Nelson looked between the two of them, confused. "But you're dead, you must know —"

"We are not dead," he interrupted, waving a hand. "These bodies are a convenience. They are not ourselves."

Nelson swallowed, not sure if that was good or bad. "What are you?"

"You will be informed if you choose to assist us." He stepped closer, almost looming over Nelson. "Well, Doctor?"

Nelson shook his head, but it wasn't a denial. "What do you need? What would you want me to do?"

"You will experiment, Doctor." The man sounded almost bored. "We will provide the tools and the subjects, and you will provide insight and design as well as physical assistance. Yes?"

Nelson's mind whirled through the possibilities. He was prepared to admit he might have gotten as far as he could on his own; if there were the chance of answers of any kind, wasn't that the point of science? And if this turned out to be a dead end, too, he could always go back to working on his own.

 _On my own. The story of my fucking life._ He thought of Dave, of friends he couldn't trust to save his life, of going back to his empty apartment. Of no answers and no life and no-one else to even care.

He swallowed and nodded. "When do we start?"


End file.
